duminică, 29 ianuarie 2017

The apple

It turned to ashes in the night
The thought the lady had
The one of what might
Happen to crave so bad.

She was designed to want
Like Eve wanting the apple
It's the genetic's code wand
That makes it all a scrapple.

The forbidden is desired
While the real is denied
The future is all patterned
And the past is all scattered.

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